


All I Know Is This

by nana_banana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Laura, Alpha!Peter, Blood, F/M, Gore, Language, M/M, jackson's a jerk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nana_banana/pseuds/nana_banana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski just wanted a normal life, but he's got a werewolf for a best friend and a banshee as a ... whatever Lydia is to him. So when Stiles fixates on the hunky barista, he thinks he might just get some normal. Unfortunately, that's just not going to happen.</p><p>Or when Laura and Derek Hale arrive much later than planned in Beacon Hills, so Laura doesn't die and Peter suffers through Scott's learning and growth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This isn't fanfiction!

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in a really long time. I really suck at tags and warnings (and summaries), but nothing terrible actually happens in this chapter, so... This story takes place after season two, but Scott and the gang are in college.

“No,” he says, “my life is _not_ badly written fan fiction!” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, glaring at the cup sitting innocently before him. His best friend Scott eyes the cup warily as well, seeming to agree with his best friend. “I mean, _really?_ You've got to be kidding me!” he gestures accusingly at the cup with his mocha frappe, topped with whipped cream and drizzled chocolate, which only continues to sit idly on the table, untouched and possibly starting to melt.

Lydia huffs as she looks up from her pink nails, tired of pretending to be looking for chips. Truth be told, she really wanted to find out what had Stiles' panties in such a twist. She glances over at the cup and sighs, rolling her eyes at the squiggled “Batman”. She doesn't know why she was there to begin with. Stiles had called her for an emergency, telling her to meet him at the school's library, but had so far only ranted and raved at the frappe from the coffee shop, as though it had personally offended him. Whatever it was that was so bad about a mocha frappe, she wanted to know. She frowns at it. Stiles could have at least brought her one too if he was going to annoy her with some trivial problem. (Which she had _yet_ to actually hear about.)

“So what's the _problem?”_ she asks, waving her hand imperiously.

Stiles looks affronted at the question, making wild motions at the cup as though to say _Look! Isn't it obvious?_ She only leans back in her chair, wondering how long exactly before someone came to drag Stiles out for all his shouting.

“So...” she trails off, completely nonplussed.

“He gave me his phone number!” Stiles finally squawks out, his pale face flushing a bright pink as he grabs the cup, turning it before shoving it into her line of sight. And _oh._ She can finally see the phone number that appears to have been hastily scribbled onto the cup. She hadn't seen the number before now. The cup hadn't been at the correct angle and _excuse her for not being psychic!_ She takes the cold container and a small frown creases her brow.

The name “Batman” was written roughly, the numbers, on the other hand, were hasty and messily jotted down. _C_ _ompletely different,_ she thinks. She looks back to Stiles who looks like he is about to have an aneurysm at any moment and brings the straw to her lips, taking a few long sips before placing it back on the table. Stiles' reaction is priceless.

His eyes widen impossibly as he gapes at her, looking deeply insulted at her lack of decency. _Because decent people don't drink from other peoples' beverages!_ Stiles thinks. He looks to his best friend for understanding only to see that Scott has lost interest in the conversation and is now smiling indulgently at his crotch. Stiles frowns as he peers over, _H_ _e's just texting Allison and completely ignoring my dilemma!_

Sighing in frustration, Stiles opens up his mouth to voice his indignation when Lydia suddenly decides to speak up.

“This phone number wouldn't happen to be from that cute coffeemaker you always flirt with, would it?”

Stiles pinks around his ears at the comment, though his face remains relatively normal. He clears his throat and nods.

“So why exactly are you so all up in arms about it?” she asks, looking at Stiles as though he is the dumbest person on the planet. “This is a _good thing,_ Stiles,” she presses. But Stiles only shakes his head, his hands tangling in his hair as he tries running his fingers through it in frustration.

“No, no, no! You don't understand!” he whines, “I can't be getting his number! I can't be _wooed_ by Mr. Tight-pants! And he is _not_ an appliance! Don't call him 'coffeemaker'.” He crosses his arms again and pouts. “My life is not a badly-written fan-fiction,” he repeats in a mumble, “There is no way I'm dating a _barista._ ” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “...that's not the way you fall in love.”

Scott finally comes out of his Allison-coma to see his best friend shrink back against his chair, misery coming off him in waves. He places a comforting hand on Stiles' shoulder and squeezes, nodding emphatically, though he has no idea what's going on. But his best friend is sad, he doesn't need to know more than that and a name so he could beat whoever made Stiles sad into a pulp.

He glances at his phone before texting a quick, painful (to him) goodbye before turning to Stiles. His friend needs him and he needs to be there for him. He was no longer the unappreciative Scott of the past. The Scott who would ignore Stiles and his problems because he was too busy mooning over his on-again-off-again girlfriend, Allison. After all, he was pretty sure he'd learned his lesson after getting bitten in the ass by a werewolf in his sophomore year of high school for not listening to Stiles.

High school had been especially difficult after that particular incident.

Scott shudders involuntarily at the memory of Creepy Peter. Learning how to be a werewolf from that guy was the most unpleasant experience of his entire life. But Stiles had been with him every step of the way. (Even when Stiles found Peter creepier than Scott did.)

“So, let me get this straight,” Lydia says, “You've been to the moon and back about this guy for like _weeks_ and now that he's given you his _number,_ you suddenly want _nothing_ to do with him?”

“ _Yeeeees!”_ he howls, face shining with relief that she finally caught on.

Her face looks incredulous and strangely impressed. “Wow, Stiles, I didn't know you were that kind of guy.”

Scott looks down at the frappe Stiles so likes to drink, piecing everything together. Stiles is upset that this guy had given him his number. So _that's_ who he had to beat up. He looks for a name.

Batman!

_Batman?_ Batman wasn't a name. He's pretty sure the guy isn't named Batman. There is no other name on the cup, Batman is the name Stiles uses to order drinks at Starbucks. Which means the guy who is harassing his best bud works at Starbucks if he's going by the logo on the drink. Alright, he was finally getting somewhere...

Stiles makes a sound of protest, his face twisting in embarrassment.

“What? No! Lydia, I am not that kind of guy! You're missing the point completely!”

Lydia holds up her hands in surrender.

“Then please explain because this is your perfect chance to finally get some and you're going nuts when you _should_ be calling him to set a date.”

Scott nods along, although he's barely listening to Lydia. _So,_ he thinks, _it's that dude that Stiles drops his change over all the time?_ He narrows his eyes and looks down at his hands where claws occasionally sprout.. He couldn't tear the guy apart. That would look too suspicious...

“Okay, look. Falling for someone at a coffee place is the most cliché damn thing to write and I refuse to be a part of that, do you understand me? I can't find love in a coffee shop! What would my children think?!” Stiles is leaning forward now, hands out, palms up.

“Stiles, you don't have any children,” Scott says, wincing (finally, he's starting to pay attention), “do you? Are you pregnant?”

Stiles makes the most mortified sound, almost like a strangled whimper of disbelief.

“Dude, you're kidding me right? Why the hell would you think I'm pregnant? I'm a _dude,_ dude!” Scott only shrugs, an apology in his grimace.

“If werewolves and banshees are real,” he replies in a whisper, “I'm not going to have much doubt if a guy suddenly gets pregnant.” But his statement only makes Stiles look at him as though he's suddenly lost his mind.

“I don't care what supernatural crap happens on a daily basis, but dudes getting pregnant is kind of reaching a bit far,” Stiles says pointedly, “How would that even work?” He looks at Lydia because she was Lydia and she was by far the most intelligent of them all. A contemplative look crosses her face as she idly taps the table in rhythm with her perfect nails.

“I'm sure there's _something,”_ is all she says before clearing her throat, “But we're getting off topic.” She looks at Stiles, her lips pursed. “You're right about the cliché, _but_ _Stiles,”_ she presses, “what's wrong with a little coffee shop romance? It's cute and worth an attempt.” She smiles sweetly, lifting her purse to her lap where she retrieves a folder, setting it on the table and effectively nipping the conversation in the bud with a sharp look at the brunette. She turns to Scott and taps his knee.

“And _you,”_ she says, “aren't going to interfere. Let Stiles figure it out on his own.” She stands, starting to leave before she pauses to give Stiles one last comment. “All you need to do is organize and type it up,” she motions to the manilla folder. “No excuses to come bug me about inaccuracies and slack off because I translated it _perfectly.”_ She flips her hair over her shoulder with a flourish and leaves.

“Yeah, well we'll see about that!” he calls out after her, but she only mildly waves and vanishes behind the first bookshelf.

Scott is pouting. Stiles is sure he's sporting the same expression. How exactly is he supposed to figure anything out without the help of his best friend? He looks at Scott and sighs. Glancing down at his frosty drink with growing resentment, he takes it in hand, phone number facing him, and pulls out his phone, quickly saving the number to think about later.

He's about to turn off the screen when he notices the time.

“Shit! Scott, we're late for class!” he shoves the folder into his open backpack along with his phone and zips it up. Carelessly swinging the bag onto his shoulder, he grabs his drink, pulling his best friend up with his free hand and yanking him hurriedly out of the library and towards the building where their classroom lies.


	2. It's wrong to stalk at Starbucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wonders if he should find a new place to get his morning drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, since no one condemned me for the short first chapter, here's another. Have fun?

During class, Stiles forces himself to pay attention, taking down notes at an alarming pace. Anything to prevent himself from thinking about his coffee shop crush. And by the end of class, Scott is looking mournfully at the pile of notes Stiles hands over that he'll have to copy for himself later.

“Buddy, you need to let up on the notes,” Scott says to him, silently bidding his night goodbye.

“Well, you know, I just thought the more the merrier!” Stiles says brightly, slapping a hand onto Scott's shoulder and squeezing. “Think how well-prepared you'll be for the test thanks to your good 'ole friend Stiles, eh?” He's grinning wide, but Scott still only stares at him as he slips the notes into his backpack.

“I'm going to have the biggest hand cramp after tonight,” he says morosely, zipping his bag shut. They exit the classroom, heading down to the next building to wait until their next class. Stiles only smiles wickedly.

“It's nothing you're not already used to,” he says, miming a vulgar gesture involving curled fingers and a lewd expression with a wink. Scott's scandalized face is a glorious reward and Stiles is laughing and trying not to trip over his feet.

“Least I have Allison,” Scott grumbles. Stiles gives him a look of pain.

“That's a low blow, dude. Not cool.”

“Sorry, man.”

Stiles just nods and hoists his backpack higher on his shoulder, his mind suddenly back on what he didn't want to think about. His crush.

▪▪▪▪

That evening, after Scott has gone home, Stiles is alone in his room. He's lying on his bed, staring at his phone. The bright screen illuminating his darkening room. The sun was setting and Stiles had spent the entire day thinking about the man who gave him his number. He'd not won a single game against his best friend. Scott had been so excited that he had not noticed. Stiles sighs and runs his finger over the screen when it dims, bringing it back to full brightness. Should he call? Was it too late to call? Could he text? What would he say?

“Fuck,” Stiles mutters, setting his phone aside and rubbing his hands over his face. He sighs and stands from the bed, heading over to his laptop. If he wasn't going to come to a conclusion any time soon, he might as well get in some gaming time. Go on a quest or two, find some scrolls, kill some trolls. And it wasn't like he could concentrate on the folder of information sitting in his backpack.

It takes about half an hour to forget his issues and become completely absorbed with his game. The next thing he knows, it's three in the morning and he's exhausted. Closing his laptop, Stiles stands, arching his back in a stretch and yawns. He trudges to his bed and collapses upon it without another thought, falling asleep almost at once.

▪▪▪▪

Stiles wakes to the sound of birds screaming through his slightly open window. Groaning irritably, he yanks his pillow over his head and tries to muffle out the sound. A few minutes later, finds Stiles screeching at the birds sarcastically, slamming his window shut.

“Goddamn birds,” he grouches, turning to see his father, John Stilinski, with a mug of coffee standing in the doorway, dressed in his sheriff’s uniform with his eyebrows raised.

“I don't want to know,” is all he says before turning around and walking away.

“Good morning to you too, dad!” Stiles shouts after him. With a loud yawn, he rubs the sleep from his eyes, tempted to return to the sweet embrace of his bed. One glance at his alarm clock has him trekking towards the bathroom, uneager to begin his day.

But a refreshing shower and a good wank has Stiles changing his tune. He's dressing when his phone goes off, signaling a call from Scott McCall. In his haste to answer, Stiles ends up on the floor, pants tangled around his calves. Unable to free himself, he reaches up and grabs the phone from his bed, swiping the screen to answer.

“Someone better be dying!” Stiles presses the speaker button, placing the phone on the floor while he works his long, awkward, giraffe legs into his pants.

“It's Peter,” responds Scott. Stiles feels his heart skip a beat. He grabs his phone and takes it off speaker, pants forgotten.

“What? He's dying?” While Stiles doesn't particularly care about Peter, (even if the man had saved his life countless times) if the man is dying, then that means there's trouble and if there's trouble, Scott gets dragged into it, and if Scott is dragged into it, Stiles is usually kidnapped/maimed/threatened/punched out. So, Stiles much prefers if Peter stays nice and healthy thank you very much!

“No, Stiles, he isn't dying. He's … I'm not sure. He called me to tell me that he's going to be busy with his nephew so that he's not going to be reachable for a while.”

“Busy with his nephew?” Stiles' forehead creases in curiosity, “You mean the mysterious nephew that's never called him or visited or even shown his face?”

“Yes, that one. What other one?”

“The nephew that we don't even know actually exists? The one Peter complains about, but refuses to even name? That nephew?”

“Yes!” Scott insists.

Stiles laughs. “Don't worry, Scott. Peter's found a tail to chase and is probably going to be stalking her for a while before she finds out and puts a restraining order on his ass.”

“You really think so?”

Stiles finishes pulling his pants on, his alarm evaporated from his mind. He stands and buttons them, grabbing the phone from the floor where he'd dropped it. “Yeah, dude, don't worry. I gotta go. Dad's up and I wanna make sure he didn't get into the bacon.”

“Okay, thanks, bye.”

Stiles hangs up and tucks his phone into his pocket. He grabs his keys and wallet and pockets those as well. At the sight of his backpack, he pauses and considers taking it before walking off without it.

He finds his dad in the kitchen, eating wheat toast and scrambled eggs with what smells like turkey bacon. Stiles' dad briefly looks up as he comes in.

“I heard something fall. You okay?”

“Don't you mean 'What did you drop?' or, possibly, 'what was that?'”

“Nope. I mean 'Something made a noise and knowing my son, (the son I love very much, by the way,) who's a health hazard on his own two feet, I deduce that he fell. And I want to know he's okay.'” His dad gives him a smile, finishing off the last of his eggs with a final bite. Stiles pulls a face at his father, wondering when exactly he became so clumsy that his father's first (and correct) deduction was that he tripped instead of thinking that someone had come through his window and killed him.

“You know, it _could_ have been a burglar,” he says petulantly.

“In the morning?” says his father, eyes filled with skepticism.

“So he had a late start!”

“And how exactly did he get up to your window? Not really practical considering it's on the second floor.” Stiles pouts and shrugs, exasperated.

“Maybe he's an acrobat!”

“An acrobat burglar?”

“Hey, just because they're an acrobat, doesn't mean they're a good person. Assuming _that_ is absurd. You should be ashamed of yourself. You're the _sheriff._ _”_ He nods at his father, giving him an appalledlook that says he should know better and goes to grab the plate left on the stove for him. Stiles supposes that he can let his father's ludicrous comments slide since he made breakfast (and it was actually _healthy_ _._ _)_ He hears his dad sigh behind him.

“Oh, Stiles,” he mutters and Stiles only barely catches it, “There's some coffee left over if you want it,” his dad says in a louder voice. Stiles clears his throat.

“Uh, no thanks, dad. I'm gonna get me some Starbucks –”

“Why do you go to that place of glorified, expensive, coffee-flavored water when you have perfectly fine coffee here at home?” his father interrupts. Stiles has so much food shoved into his mouth by the time his father stops talking that he has to turn away from the stove to meet his eye and shrug. He doesn't really want to tell his dad that the only reason he really goes anymore is because of the hot piece of ass across the counter making the sugar-filled, coffee-flavored ice drinks he always orders. Somehow, Stiles feels that his father wouldn't appreciate that bit of information.

“I really like the frapps,” he says instead, “they also have some good cookies.”

John Stilinski only shakes his head and stands, placing his plates in the sink and giving Stiles a pat on the shoulder. “I gotta go to work now. And later we'll talk about how inappropriate it is to stalk someone who works at Starbucks.”

Stiles' fork clatters on the plate, sending bits of egg all over the stove as his dad leaves the kitchen and heads out the front door. He turns belatedly and gapes after him, though his father is gone from the house. “I'm not stalking!” he calls out, hoping his father could still hear him. It was no wonder John Stilinski was the sheriff of Beacon Hills. Stiles groans as he thinks about the future lecture the sheriff will give him, giving his breakfast a mournful look, his appetite gone.

He cleans up, washes the dishes, and heads out the door. As he climbs into his jeep, he wonders if he should skip Starbucks today and just head on to work. Turning on the vehicle, he drives off. But as soon as he sees the Starbucks coming up, he curses himself and pulls into the parking lot. He beats a stranger into a spot and sits there, handling the curses being shouted out the window of the other car at him by shouting back, “Maybe if you'd gotten up earlier, you'd have gotten the spot, asshole!” The other driver flips him the bird and peels out of the parking lot in a screech of tires.

Stiles sits for a long moment, weighing his options. He could skip his mocha frappe. He could skip facing the barista after his utter failure at taking action. He could find a new place to get his coffee at. Or he could just start drinking it at home. Skipping his frappe would have him crashing halfway through his shift at work. Finding a new place to get his caffeine fix would be troublesome and he'd for sure be late for his job. Drinking coffee at home would mean no longer seeing his crush. And for that, more than anything, Stiles forces himself out of his jeep, snatching his keys out of the ignition before he could forget them.

Once inside, he notices two things. First was the long line. Second, the source of his affections was not making the drinks, but attending the cash register which would mean that he would talk to Stiles. The pale, young man felt his heart skip a beat. He would finally speak directly to his crush. Those gorgeous eyes would be directly on him, looking at him, recognizing that he exists. Stiles hurries into the line, frowning when he could no longer see the man at the cash register.

Tall dark and handsome; how the hell is that his type? Stiles fidgets in the long line to the counter. He still can't see the cashier around all the people in front of him, but he doesn't mind. He's sure that if he _could_ see the guy, he'd just chicken out and find a new coffee shop to get his usual frozen drink. But no, Stilinskis don't run, nor do they hide. He is going to go up to the counter, look him straight in the eye, and … and … _and what?_ Stiles hasn't really thought that far yet, but he's sure it involves talking.

All too soon, it's Stiles turn to order, his fidgeting has turned into a nervous buzz all over his body. He feels like a rubber band that has been stretched to its limits. A rubber band with eyes that were staring into the depths of hell. Standing (sitting?) from a high precipice, feeling like he was about to tip over. And the depths of hell are two sea-green eyes that are narrowed in irritation, staring directly at him. Irritated with _him._ Maybe he should have run while he had the chance. But it's too late now. He's next!

“Oh, crap.”

“I'm pretty sure we don't serve that.”

Holy Jesus, that _voice._ Stiles can feel his mouth part open. That voice like velvet chocolate. It doesn't even matter that it is filled with gruff annoyance. That voice is going to be prime spank bank material for the rest of his natural life. That is, if he could survive the utter mortification he is beginning to feel at the sight of those raised, judging eyebrows.

It isn't as though he's never heard the man's voice before. It just had never been directed at him and usually been a soft murmur. For the first time, though, the man he's been ogling from afar was cashier. The moment is so surreal that it takes a minute to finally hit him; he is standing before the person who has starred in his many wet dreams, gaping like an idiot, spouting profanities, and generally being a total creep. How the hell had he scored the guy's number?

“Uh, I – um,” Stiles stutters, gritting his teeth and looking away from that perfect face. He looks at the menu above, knowing that he'll only be a stammering mess if he continues to look into that intimidating face. Seriously, how was this guy his type? He clears his throat discreetly.

“I'll have the mocha frappe … tall, under the name of Batman,” he says quickly, still refusing to meet the man's gaze as he pulls out his wallet. He can't help but wonder if he royally screwed up by not giving him a call. _Maybe that's why he's so annoyed,_ Stiles stares into the leather pocket for a moment, yanking out a bill.

_Or m_ _aybe it's because I won't look at him,_ Stiles thinks. He hesitantly raises his eyes from the money in his hand to the handsome man and gives a tentative smile. It seems to catch the tan brunette by surprise if the way his hands twitch on the keys of the register and the small flush on his face are any indication. _Should I say something?_ he vaguely wonders, _maybe apologize for not even texting?_

Stiles hands over a ten before the guy can even announce his total. He's been in enough times to memorize the amount. Their hands brush at the fingertips and Stiles feels a warmth spread from his cheeks to his ears. He gives a cursory glance to the name tag even though Stiles already knows his name from the various times he'd peeked. He's handed his change with a gruff, “Won't be long.” and moves aside to wait. There's no one behind him, but the cashier won't look at him anymore, instead trying to make himself look busy when Stiles knows he's not actually doing anything.

“Um,” Stiles starts, sticking his hands into his pockets, shuffling his weight from leg to leg, “I was pretty busy yesterday with homework and stuff, so I didn't have a chance, but,” And now he has the man's attention. Stiles wants to look away from those green eyes, but he stamps down his indecision and tries a smile which he's sure comes off as a grimace, “I just don't want you to think I was blowing you off or anything.”

The man's thick eyebrows are raised in amusement and a little confusion and Stiles feels his face begin to redden. Stiles plows on, “I'm Stiles, by the way, in case you didn't already know that. You know, since I don't wear a name tag like you do” And now the man's frowning, looking more confused than before. Stiles suddenly wishes he hadn't said anything. But before he can ask why the man looks so confused, there's a blonde with blood-red lipstick, holding out his drink.

“Batman?” she asks, smirking.

Stiles is quick to grab his drink and hightail it out of there without an answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like some feedback. Hit up the comment box!


	3. Can a bug spray kill Tinker Bell?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to work at the public library and when a certain someone shows up, he feels he's being stalked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that? I'm back. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this chapter.

_I'm such an idiot,_ Stiles thinks for the millionth time , rubbing his hand all over his face in irritation as he arrives at the public library. He walks in, drinking up the last of his frappe before tossing it into the trashcan just inside. When he passes the detectors, they go off and he sighs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and holding it up. He really wishes the detectors were replaced with ones that _actually worked._

“Just my phone,” he calls out when the librarian peers out at him from behind the front desk. She smiles at him and nods. “Stiles,” she greets in her soft voice, “Cutting it close, don't you think?”

He gives her a sheepish smile and shrugs.

“Sorry, Ms. Blake. It's such a beautiful day outside that I kind of lost track of time.”

She smiles knowingly at him and tilts her head to the side.

“Sure it wasn't because of Mr. McHotpants? You don't need to lie, you know.”

“You caught me,” Stiles laughs, a little embarrassed. He really needs to stop talking about his unfortunate crush to anyone who'd listen. As he rounds the desk, he sees her inputting his arrival time and can't help but smile when she rounds down instead of putting his actual time. She turns to see him peeking and gives him a wink before sending the information into cyberspace.

“So what's new with mister … what was it? Mister Ass-so-hot-he-could-reignite-the-nuclear-fusion-of-a-thousand-degenerate-stars-causing-them-to-go-supernova-all-at-once-in-a-giant-frenzy-of-awesome?” She laughs at Stiles expression, covering her mouth delicately with the back of her pale hand.

“Ms. Blake, for the love of all that is holy, please don't file away all my embarrassing moments. It puts me at a serious disadvantage.”

“Well,” she says coyly, “if you'd tell me his name, I wouldn't have to remind you of all the things you've said about the 'glorious tush that could bring an entire nation to its knees with a single clench.'”

Stiles makes a noise like a dying whale and covers his face with his hands.

“With a fearsome memory like that, I think I'll keep his identity secret for my own safety,” he mutters, heading over to the rolling cart stacked with books.

“These all ready to be put away?” He glances at the brunette to see her pout slightly at his change of subject, but she nods anyway.

“Yes, sir.” But before Stiles could get out of her range, she speaks again, “Don't think I won't stop trying, though.” Stiles can only continue on his way, head hanging in mock-defeat.

It took Stiles almost no time at all to learn the ropes at the library when he first got the job. Whenever the internet had failed him in his research, he'd always retreated here to continue looking for more clues. He didn't always find what he was looking for, considering Beacon Hills was a small town and the library even smaller, but he did enjoy finding out new things when he picked up the wrong book.

He's a librarian at heart and he knows it. He loves the organization of the library. It helps his mind feel slightly more peaceful. As though putting the books away on the correct shelf is helping him sort his own erratic thoughts in his mind. It's calming work. Sometimes a little boring, but with a werwolf and banshee as his best friends, Stiles feels he needs more boring in his life. Boring as in normal. Normal as in the human barista at the Starbucks. Now _that_ is something he could use in his life. Or in bed. Preferably both. In various positions.

He picks up the next book and almost drops it in surprise. It's a _Goosebumps_ book, “Werewolf Skin”.

“Werewolves,” he mutters, chuckling at the cover.

“Ahem.” He almost drops it in shock at the abrupt sound. He whirls around, hand over his heart, dimly aware of the book slipping through his fingers and hitting the floor with a soft thump and a flutter of pages.

“Holy hell. Oh … my god, _what_ _.”_ Stiles massages his chest, trying to calm his racing heart.

“I prefer Derek,” says the smooth voice, eyes sparkling in amusement, the corners of his lips twitching up. Stiles blinks, unsure if he should laugh or not. But that's the least of his problems. Derek is there. Derek, the cutie with the booty is there! The guy he's been eying for the past couple of months is standing right in front of him, dressed in the most enticing long-sleeved, forest-green henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. And, Jesus help him, those bare forearms looked _amazing._

Derek in general looks amazing, but Stiles already knows that. It's the reason he's been unable to move past a “hi” or “good morning” without sounding like a strangled cat. Why was he thinking about strangled cats? He- _llo!_ Derek needs his attention! Stiles wonders how long he's been gaping and clears his throat before frowning. Why is Derek there at all? How did Derek know where he worked? Did Derek follow him? _Did I fall for a creepy stalker? Oh, god, my dad's going to kill me_ _while he laughs at the irony_ _. Derek will go to jail and I'm gonna have to become a lawyer just to get him out, so I can have his beautiful_ _green-eyed_ _babies._

“I'm gonna hope for conjugal visits.”

“Uh … what?” Stiles laughs it off. Had he really said that out loud? Now Derek's going to find him a total idiot and leave and start stalking someone else. He can't let that happen. Creepy stalker or not, Derek is the man he's been pining for and he would not let him get away!

“Oh, man, I'm sorry,” he finally says, “I was just um, thinking about something completely irrelevant and that was rude. Uh, did you follow me here?” _Way to go, Stiles._ He flinches back when Derek holds out a book to him, frowning.

“No,” he says slowly, his brows creasing further, like he's wondering if Stiles is an escaped mental patient, “I just got off work and I kind of needed some books? There was no one at the front desk, but I heard you moving around here, so...” he trails off and shrugs, holding up the book in his hands and Stiles realizes it's the _Goosebumps_ book he just dropped. And, wow, when did Derek bend over? How did he miss that? Why is Derek looking at him like he'd rather be someplace else?

Stiles takes the book, careful to not touch the other man. Derek already thinks he's insane. He's sure that any touch would send the man running in the other direction. He quickly shoves the book into its place in the shelf and clears his throat. “Uh, so you didn't follow me here to demand I call you?” Stiles curses himself to infinity when Derek gives him a startled look. Why can't he just shut up? Scott was always telling him the reason they always got in trouble was because of his big mouth. Why couldn't he just heed his best friend for once in his life?

“Am I really that transparent?” is the surprising answer, quickly followed with, “Not the following you part. I didn't actually follow you. I just, uh–” Derek looks suddenly frustrated. “I mean – I like you and I thought I was being discreet, but um, I guess not?” He gives Stiles an apologetic grimace and steps back. “I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable,” he finally mutters, no longer meeting Stiles' eyes. Stiles feels a smile blossom on his face and he's stepping forward, emboldened by Derek's obvious nervousness.

“Well, the phone number was a dead giveaway,” Stiles says, “I honestly didn't even know you were interested until then. So if you were going for discreet, then I suggest not giving your number to people.” But then Derek looks confused again.

“I … didn't give you my number,” he says slowly, unsure. Stiles frowns and pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts to Derek's number. He turns the phone so Derek's can see.

“Then if this isn't your number, I'm going to feel like a giant tool.”

Derek's frowning as he takes the phone. He's looking even more confused by the second.

“It's my number,” he says, “but I didn't give it to you.” He hesitates at Stiles' look of hurt. “I mean, I would have eventually, but I didn't give it to you. How did you get it exactly?”

“It was on the Starbucks cup. The one from yesterday. You were the one making it, so I thought –”

“Erica,” Derek interrupts him, confusion falling from his face into a look of wry amusement.

“Erica,” Stiles parrots, “Who's Erica?” _And do I have to fight her for your affections?_

“She's the one who gave you my number,” Derek clarifies, “She must have written it onto the cup before handing it over to you.” _I take it back, Erica is my new best friend,_ Stiles thinks.

“And why would this Erica do that? You know, not that I'm complaining because I'm definitely not complaining. Nope. No way. No complaints here. None whatsoever.” Stiles knows he's starting to babble, but he can't help himself. Especially when an adorable blush spreads through Derek's neck to his ears.

“I may have … mentioned you one or twice,” he looks away from Stiles and shrugs, trying to pass the comment off as inconsequential. Stiles feels his stomach flip and his smile widens into a large grin.

“It's 'cause of that Stilinski charm, right? Gets 'em every time,” he teases, causing Derek to give him an amused look, accompanied with a raised eyebrow. Stiles swears that even if Derek were mute, those eyebrows would tell all. They were so _expressive_. Like they had their own language.

“You got me,” Derek deadpans, though Stiles can tell he's close to laughter. “I'm another victim of your magical spell, Stiles.” And even though Derek is teasing him, Stiles feels his heart speed up the slightest bit because he knows that there's something there between them. He knows it's growing and he likes it. He's about to continue the tease-fest when he spots Jennifer Blake giving him the “get back to work” eye.

“So you said you wanted some books?” Stiles' voice is brisk and all business. He regrets changing the tone of their conversation immediately when Derek's face changes from amused to somewhat put out. It's brief and Derek nods, his face back to scowling, back straightening. Stiles realizes that Derek is getting the wrong idea and subtly adds, “My boss is watching.”

At once, Derek relaxes. He seems relieved.

“Well, I need whatever you have on fae mythology. You know, fairies and the way they work … how to get rid of them.” Stiles is slightly taken aback at the request. Why did Derek want to know about the fae? Being so involved with the supernatural, Stiles tended to not take anything at face value. Anyone who was interested in the supernatural was someone to be wary of. But as Stiles studies Derek, he all but blinks away his suspicion. Derek was just a _human._ There was nothing nefarious at work here.

“Fairies, huh? Tinker Bell giving you trouble?” he jokes. But Derek's face is sheepish.

“Uh, something like that. I … I'm ... writing a story and I need informa – uh, ideas,” he explains lamely. Stiles nods sagely. So Derek was a writer? He carefully tucks that thought away. He knew how difficult it was to build a world of fiction. Once upon a time, Stiles himself had tried his hand at writing, but found himself useless at it. He was much better at research anyway.

“Sure thing, come with me,” Stiles says and leads the way.

▪▪▪▪

“Could you swipe your library card under the scanner?” Stiles asks. He's behind the front desk, motioning to the scanner close to Derek's hand. Derek quickly pulls out his card and swipes it before tucking it into his back pocket once more.

Stiles is checking out Derek's books when Ms. Blake appears at his side, staring unabashedly at Derek. He can see that she's instantly smitten, and though Stiles can't blame her, he minds very much that she's gawking at his love interest. Now, Stiles adores Ms. Blake, but Derek is starting to look uncomfortable at her attention and Stiles wishes she would go away.

“Good afternoon,” she greets Derek and he nods curtly at her. Stiles really needs her to stop staring.

“Hey, Ms. Blake. I thought you were _in the back room?”_ he says pointedly, but she doesn't seem to hear him. She's still smiling coyly at Derek and Derek is looking at anything else but her. He finishes checking out the books, about to turn to the computer to print Derek's receipt when Ms. Blake practically shoves him out of the way and beats him to it.

“Stiles, have you finished putting away the books?” he gawps at her and shakes his head. Had she seriously just _shoved_ him? She smiles genially. “Go ahead and finish then. I'll take care of this.” She shoos him away and he goes, still too shocked to react. It's only when he's picking up a book from the abandoned cart when he realizes what just happened. Jennifer Blake was moving in on his man.

“Oh, hell no.” He's just about ready to march right back and set her straight when he remembers a very important thing:

Derek wasn't his. Derek didn't belong to him and he had no right to be angry with Jennifer. He frowns, grudgingly realizing that he never actually told her Derek's name or pointed out that Derek was Mr. McHotpants. And Derek himself was a free man. He looks towards the front desk where Jennifer is slipping a strip of paper (that looks nothing like a receipt) into Derek's book. He watches her hand it over and wink, feeling his stomach twist foully.

He's just about resigned himself, when Derek turns to look at him, flashing a quick smile before leaving the library. Stiles moves back to hide himself behind the shelves and pumps his fist into the air in triumph. He's grinning while he resumes his task of shelving. He's definitely going to text Derek when he gets off work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit up the comment box, will ya? Purty please?


	4. I knew you were trouble when you walked in.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles suffers through incessant talking and more than a little blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like cliff-hangers and apparently one Taylor Swift song. That was really unexpected.

Stiles wanted to shoot someone. He's so close to twisting his hands in his hair and ripping it out. He'd been listening to Ms. Blake go on _and on_ about Derek and his gorgeous-ness. Stiles _knows_ Derek has glorious arms. Stiles _knows_ that Derek has the most mesmerizing butt in the world. Stiles _knows_ that Derek is spectacular. Stiles _knows_ all of this because _he_ was the one to find Derek _first!_

“And did you see the way he smiled when he was leaving?”

_Yes, yes I_ did _see the way Derek smiled as he was leaving because he was smiling at me!_ But Stiles didn't respond because he didn't know how to break it to her without sounding like a n absolute asshole. And the longer she went on, the  worse Stiles felt for not saying anything  in the beginning.  _How did I even get into this mess?_ He wonders.

“I gave him my number, do you think he'll call me?” she asks him, the hope on her face making something in his gut twist unpleasantly. Stiles knows he should tell her that Derek, the Derek she was mooning over was _Derek,_ Mr. McHotpants.

“I honestly don't know, Ms. Blake,” he says because he _doesn't_ know. Derek could call her. What did he know? It wasn't as if he knew Derek. He didn't really know anything much other than Derek was a writer who was writing about fairies of all things. So he couldn't say for sure that he wouldn't give Jennifer Blake a call. She was attractive. Stiles knew that. She was sweet and shy and totally like Scott's girlfriend, Allison. And if Stiles were to be honest with himself, were he Derek, he'd pick Ms. Blake as well.

_No,_ he thinks after several minutes of self-depreciation.  _Derek was uncomfortable with her,_ he reminds himself.  H e checks in a couple of books  for the cute jock he'd been eying for the last five minutes and checks out three more fo r him. (And no, he doesn't feel the least bit guilty about appreciating the guy's muscles. He was single and he had a right to ogle whoever he wanted!)  He feels fleetingly proud that the handsome jock in the letterman jacket was checking out advanced reading.  _Physics,_ he vaguely registers, tucking in the receipt into one of the books before handing them over.

“Have a nice day, you.”

“Todd,” says the jock, looking away shyly. Stiles smiles. He was being too hard on himself about the whole Jennifer Blake thing. He was just as good-looking as Ms. Blake. Todd was proof of that.

“Have a nice day then, _Todd.”_ He gets a small grin in return and the jock leaves.

“Wow,” says Jennifer once the guy is out of earshot, marveling at the exchange, “Looks like McHotpants' got competition.” Stiles laughs and shakes his head, finding it funnier solely for the fact that he had competition as well. (But if things fell through with Derek, it was nice to know he had options.) “Speaking of Mr. McHotpants, you haven't said anything about him all day. Something happen?” Jennifer is looking at him, looking authentically worried.

“Uh,” he says, “McHotpants isn't the only one with competition,” he evades. Jennifer's suddenly got that look on her face, like she's been insulted.

“Well,” she huffs, “he's an idiot if he doesn't pick you. A blind idiot!” She smiles tenderly at him. “You're a great catch, Stiles. Whoever that person is, you're worth ten of them, unless they're Steve Rogers. That man is just unf!” She bites her lip as her mind wanders to whatever fantasy has just entered her head and Stiles coughs awkwardly.

“Right,” he says. He doesn't want to confirm or deny her rant. Because Jennifer would find out eventually that she was his competition, and the repercussions would be catastrophic.

Stiles eyes the clock on the wall and visibly deflates. His shift was over ten minutes ago.  _Thank god,_ he thinks.  The relief of finishing his shift is palpable,  but Jennifer doesn't seem to notice. She's gone back to waxing on about Derek . Stiles thanks the gods that he no lon ger has to suffer through the awkward conversation. He clears his throat and points at the clock.

“Well, I'm off, Ms. Blake!” She turns to see the time and nods, heading over to the computer to clock him out.

“Have a nice evening, Mr. Stilinski,” she's adopted her business-voice, “You remember what I told you!”

Stiles nods and walks out the door, waving goodbye to Ms. Blake.  He's halfway through the parking lot,  already thinking about what to text Derek,  when his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket. Upon pulling it out, he sees Scott's face flashing on screen.  Swiping it, he answers.

“Yo, Scottie! What's up?”

Scott's voice comes through, slightly panicked. _Oh, god, what now?_ Stiles thinks.

“Stiles! You gotta come quick! It's Peter. He's –” Scott breaks off abruptly and Peter's voice comes on. Stiles can hear Scott arguing for his phone back in the background.

“Stiles,” his voice is gruff. He's gasping like he's in pain. Stiles starts to feel the dread pooling into his gut. “Stiles, get in your jeep and come to Scott's house –” Petergrunts and there's a sharp yelp which sounds a lot like Scott. Stiles thinks Peter may have kicked him. It was times like these that Stiles wondered what he was doing with his life, involving himself with all this dangerous supernatural bullshit. It only made him further appreciate how _normal_ Derek was.

“What the hell is going on?” Stiles shouts into the phone. _What the hell did these two get into?_

“Just get your skinny ass over here and _hurry,”_ Peter's annoyed voice rolls through the phone, still panting. There's another yelp and the ended call tone  sounds. 

“Well, _excuse you!"_ S tiles looks at his phone and frowns. He slips the phone and pockets it, suddenly rushing to his jeep. He hastily unlocks it and stumbles in, jamming the key into the ignition. He turns it once, the engine turns over before it sputters and dies. Stiles feels his blood run cold.

“Now would be the absolute worst time for you to fail on me,” he pleads to his car, “Please, for the love of god, do not fail on me!” He turns the key again and the engine sputters before roaring to life. “Oh, I love you so much, you beautiful creature, you.” He kisses the steering wheel and guns it, racing out of the parking lot and onto the road, belatedly remembering that his father is the sheriff and he should not be going twenty miles over the speed limit, supernatural emergency or otherwise.

Stiles forces himself to drive barely over the limit when he notices his lack of seat belt. He yanks it on with one hand and buckles it without looking.

_There better be no body count._ Stiles worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls up in front of Scott's house.  His anxiety doubles when n othing seems out of place. Stiles doesn't see Scott's mom's car anywhere. He turns off the car, shoving the keys into his pocket as he tries to exit, only to be  forced back by the belt. He grumpily tears off his seat belt and runs up to the door.

“Oh, god, is that? _...there's blood on the floor.”_ He sidesteps the pool of blood and finally notices the trail of it that leads into the street. “ Scott?” he calls, shoving into the house, “Blegh!” he shudders at the blood on the doorknob and wipes it off onto his shirt, shutting the door to see Scott rushing up to meet him, his face panicked, his clothes covered in blood. “That's just excessive,” Stiles comments before Scott pushes him out of the way and towards the small box next to the door on a little table.

“The mountain ash, hurry!!” Before he knows what he's doing, there's a handful of mountain ash in Stiles' fist and Scott is pushing him again. He scatters it in front of the door and it fuses into a straight line, connecting the mountain ash boards surrounding the house.

“I just realized that your mom can _totally_ ground you if she wanted,”  Stiles chuckles despite the gravity of the situation. Scott doesn't seem to realize he's talking. He's pulling him into the kitchen and Stiles is struggling because he doesn't like being manhandled, unless it were Derek having his way with him, thank you very much! “Dude, let go! I can walk on my own, you know. I have legs!” But then he sees Peter and he suddenly can't feel those legs anymore. He stumbles and grabs onto the table for support, he feels paralyzed.

“Peter,” he rasps out, “Holy shit, _Peter.”_

Peter is a mess.  Slumped in a chair, h e's stripped to his underwear,  covered in  rags made to be  makeshift bandages (that were already turning red), and paler than usual. Stiles looks around and his heart skips a beat. There trail of blood from outside was made by Peter. He turns to Scott who still looks harried.

“Your mom is going to throw a fit when she sees all the blood on the floor.”

“Are you serious? Stiles, look at him!” Scott doesn't appreciate his jokes like he used to. In any case, Scott needs to understand that humor is his defense mechanism. He's sure if he keeps looking at Peter, he'd lose it. Stiles presses his hands to his face and tries not to look at Peter. The man looks like he'd been put through a blender. Stiles doesn't want to examine the extent of his wounds.

“Actually, I'd rather not look at him.” And when Scott looks like he's going to yell again, Stiles continues, “Dude! _Look_ at me! I'm just a  human kid trying to get through college who just so happens to have a werewolf as a best friend! I'm still trying to comprehend what the hell is going on here! Why did you make me put down the mountain ash? Who's coming for us? What the hell do you want _me_ to do about all that!” – he erratically motions to Peter, who's still quietly bleeding in his chair – “Does it look like I know first aid? I can't even look at blood without feeling sick! Call your mom! She's the nurse, not me! Why isn't she here instead? And _you,_ haven't you learned to stitch up dogs at the clinic? The clinic! Deaton! Why isn't _he_ here?”

Stiles feels the panic settle in his chest and he tries to keep his breaths even. There was no use in losing his head . He'd only have a panic attack and then he'd be useless and Scott would  worry over Stiles and  be even more useless than him.

Sometimes he hated being the brains of the group. Scott is glaring at him and Stiles motions for him to speak. “Stiles,” he grits out, “My mom is in the middle of her shift. If I call her out  for this, she's going to have a heart attack. She's still new at this. I don't want her to find this. Deaton isn't here  and I called you because you're my best friend and I need your support .”  Stiles' mouth drops open.

“What do you mean Deaton _isn't here?”_ Scott takes a deep breath and shrugs.

“He said he had somewhere to be and that he'd be gone for a week. He's due back in three more days. He didn't leave a number.” Stiles frowns at Scott.

“Your Obi-wan says he's taking off and you didn't ask for a number to reach him at in case you had a little werewolf emergency? Which is what we're having right now! Did you know? Let me enlighten you!” He makes a grand gesture towards the weak Peter, who doesn't even seem to notice they're in the room. Stiles knows Scott isn't that much of an idiot to not ask Deaton how to reach him just in case.

“I … I forgot.” Scott _is_ that much of an idiot.

“You forgot. You _forgot?_ Are you serious right now? Well, whatever, you're going to have to call your mom, dude. Look at him, he's _still_ bleeding!” He jabs a finger at Peter, who finally deigns it necessary to speak.

“I told him to call Melissa,” he's breathing shallowly like he barely has the strength to even do that much, “but Scott still doesn't want me near her, so his little 'mommy will have a heart attack' is just an excuse.” He narrows his eyes at Scott and looks back to Stiles. “You're not completely incompetent, so think of something before I bleed out and die.” His remark suddenly brings to light a new question.

“Peter,” Stiles slowly asks, “why aren't you healing?” He looks to Scott who's now got this constipated look on his face. And it's he who answers, not Peter.

“Wounds made by an alpha take longer to heal,” he says and Stiles feels the wind go out of him.

“There's another alpha running around in Beacon Hills? When were you people planning on telling me? That's why you had me put down the mountain ash?” Scott glares at Peter then.

“He just told me as well,” Scott says, but Peter is sucking in a deep breath and his next comment chills them to the bone.

“It's not just one alpha. It's a pack. An _alpha pack,”_ Peter forces out and Stiles feels his world spin when the man promptly falls dead to the floor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that went well, I think. Feel free to tell me otherwise in the section for comments below!!


	5. God, Peter, keep your clothes on!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finds himself incapable of dealing with wounds and may be slightly, grudgingly attracted to Peter. Unfortunately, some people are just hot. Also alphas, so many alphas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry I took a while to post. I've been drowning in tons of anxiety lately and haven't been able to do much due to being completely useless when completely stressed out.

_Oh, my god, he's dead, Peter's dead. Holy shit. Shit, shit, shit. He's so dead, so_ freaking _dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's de –_

“Stiles, shut up!” Scott has Stiles by the shoulders. He's shaking him, desperately trying to break through the haze that has engulfed Stiles' mind. “Come on, buddy, don't make me slap you!” Stiles blinks, his eyes struggling to focus on Scott's.

“Scott?”

“Yeah, buddy, it's me. It's Scott. Stop freaking out. He's just passed out. He's not dead.” Scott smiles reassuringly, “He's not dead, okay?”

“Okay, okay … okay,” Stiles murmurs, trying to catch up with the situation. “Okay,” he says again, “Peter's our priority right now. Get him up, we need to stitch him up. Like right now. We need to stitch him up right now or you'll have to find some reason to explain to your mom why there's a dead werewolf on her kitchen floor!” He's rushing to Peter's side and trying to heft him up by an arm unsuccessfully when he realizes that Scott's not helping. “DUDE! Scott, are you kidding me? Weak, fragile human, remember? Little help here!” Scott nods and runs over, picking Peter up and setting him down on the table.

“It'll be easier to stitch him up on the table,” he explains at Stiles' questioning look. Once Peter's on the table, Scott looks to Stiles who shrugs.

“What? Do I look like nurse to you? Is it the legs?” Scott makes a face at him and Stiles snaps his fingers. “Needle and thread! Go get your mom's sewing stuff.” Scott nods and runs off, pounding up the stairs and slamming doors. Stiles takes the opportunity to look out the windows to make sure no one's around. He really didn't feel safe now that he knew an entire pack of alphas was after them. _Or at least after Peter,_ he amends.

He heads over to Peter's motionless body and gets his fingers into the bandage on his right upper arm, slowly and gently working it off. He tosses it into the sink and comes back to see the torn flesh, suddenly feeling queasy. “Oh, god,” he puts a hand to his mouth and looks away, “Is that meat?” he peeks again and feels the bile rise into his throat. “Christ, you smell like _death.”_ This wasn't good. He couldn't handle this.

“No, I _can,”_ Stiles says to himself, “I can totally do this.” He compels himself to place his hands next to the slashed skin and tries to pull the skin together, his face screwed up into a pinched expression. Blood oozes from the wound and Stiles' breath leaves him completely. He thinks he feels light-headed and the floor is moving closer, but then everything is black and Stiles is out like a light.

▪▪▪▪

The pale, freckled teen comes to on the Scott's sofa in the living room. He sits up groggily and rubs his eyes, looking up to see Allison staring intently at him.

“Ho – god! Allison, give me some warning next time!” She smiles at him and sits on the coffee table parallel to him. “What happened to Peter – oh, my _god_ , never mind. What happened to _you?”_ Allison has a fresh bandage on her arm and some scratches on her cheek and shoulder. They're not deep, but they also don't look like they were caused by a house cat. She's grimacing, picking imaginary lint off her skirt, and shrugging at him.

“Peter woke up while I was stitching him up. He freaked out and attacked me. He got me before Scott could hold him down and calm him.” She sighs and touches her bandage. “I was lucky,” she whispers. Stiles wants to nod and agree and maybe freak out a little, but he doesn't want her to start having some kind of anxiety attack over how close she came to becoming seriously injured, so instead, he changes the subject.

“What exactly are you doing here? Did Scott call you? I swear to God, if he called you because he couldn't handle –”

“No!” Allison interrupts him, laughing, “Actually, he wasn't answering his phone and he _never_ ignores my calls, so I decided come by and check if he was okay. But instead, I find blood outside, mountain ash in the doorway, and Scott trying to stitch up what I thought was a really dead Peter in the kitchen.” She's all dimples and smiles which causes Stiles to momentarily forget the very real problems facing them all. He frowns. It's alarming him how well Allison is taking the imminent danger. He shudders. Allison was one scary girl.

“Speaking of Peter,” he starts, “What happened after I, you know, decided to take a nap?”

“You mean after you fainted?”

“Passed out!”

“I thought you just said it was a nap?”

“Allison, you're really not funny.”

“Okay, okay!” She holds up her hands in defeat, laughing and gestures towards to stairs. “Scott's trying to find clothes to put him in so his mom doesn't ground him for life for having a naked werewolf in her kitchen.” Pushing a stray brown lock out of her face, she sighs. “Peter doesn't really want me near him while he's injured, so after I finished stitching him up, he threatened me out of the kitchen.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows in amusement. Peter was still worried about Allison even after all the times she had helped them. _I guess when you try to kill someone, they kinda don't trust you anymore,_ he thinks. “So,” he says, the mood around them shifting drastically, “there's an alpha pack in Beacon Hills.” Allison's face is stony as she nods, her lips drawn into a thin line.

“As far as Scott's said, yeah. There appears to be a pack of alphas who seem to want Peter dead for some reason.” She scowls. “He doesn't seem very keen on spilling the beans on _why_ they're out to kill him.”

“Yeah, well, that's because it's none of your business, little girl.” Peter's in the doorway to the living room, still in his underwear, although thankfully bandaged and wiped clean of blood. He's giving Allison a shrewd look and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“So she tried to kill you once upon a time. Get over it, man! Her and her dad aren't trying to kill you anymore, remember? We bonded that one time when a _lechusa_ kidnapped Scott to kill him and absorb his werewolfy powers?” He gestures wildly with his hands, “There was a lot of flailing and arrows and you even yanked her out of the way when the _lechusa_ tried to attack her? _Remember?_ You remember!”

Peter gives him a look like he just sucked on a lemon and Stiles grins at him. It was obvious that Peter didn't like to be reminded of his little moment of heroism. Which was why Stiles would bring it up every single time they were together. “Oh, come on. Don't be such a sourwolf!” Allison is trying hard not to giggle beside him and Peter huffs.

“Well, none of that would have happened if Scott wasn't an idiot and gotten himself _caught.”_

“Hey!” Scott appeared on the landing at the top of the stairs, looking indignant. “I don't have to give you clothes, you know! You can just suck it up and leave like that for all I care!” Stiles felt impressed with Scott. _Way to go, Scottie. Stick it to the alpha!_

Peter didn't bat an eyelash. “Oh, then you won't mind when I skip town and let you deal with these alphas by yourselves, right?” Stiles sours at the thought. _What a smug prick._ Peter looks to each of them in turn, daring them to challenge him. He smiles smugly and crosses his arms gingerly, nodding. “Good. So, Scott, bring me those clothes and shut up.” Scott stomps down the stairs and thrusts the clothes out like the petulant child he is and Stiles sighs. Sometimes he hated Peter Hale.

“So,” he says, clapping his hands together before Peter can think of doing good on his threat and leave town and them doomed. “What exactly are these alphas doing here and why did they attack you? Also, are we in immediate danger? Because I'd really like to be forewarned of any maiming that may happen to me. You know how I am about the maiming. And one more thing, how the hell does a pack of alphas even work?”

Peter looks like he'd rather save Allison again than answer him, but he grudgingly does. “We are not in immediate danger. The attack on me was a fluke. Wong place, wrong time.” Somehow, the way Peter says this is frustratingly ineffectual in calming Stiles. “I don't know why they're here. Maybe they wanted a change in scenery –”

“You're lying,” Scott grounds out, glaring at Peter, hands clenched, “You know why they're here!”

Peter gives Scott a calculating look and shrugs, pulling on the shirt Scott threw at him. “They may be here for my niece. And possibly me.” Stiles scoffs, looking away from the way the shirt stretches over his arm and chest muscles. He gulps and Allison shoots him a look. He wonders if it's wrong that he's checking Peter out considering the man is probably more than twice his age.

“Oh, there's a _niece_ now? A niece we've never heard of before? Just like the invisible nephew! How convenient! Why can't you just say that you pissed them off and they're after you to get even?” Stiles says irately. Peter doesn't give him an answer right away. Rather, he pulls on the pants, keeping his eyes level on Stiles as though he knows exactly what Stiles was thinking just moments before. _Think of Derek, think of Derek, whoa, wait, no, wrong track, think of grandma!_ He sighs in relief when that effectively calms his libido. _Fuck you, Peter._

Peter buttons the pants and Stiles tries his best not to notice how tight they are on him. _God, this is so wrong,_ he thinks. “Are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to answer?” he directs to Peter who only smiles at him.

“Depends. Are you going to keep undressing me with your eyes or are you going to focus on what I have to say?” Scott makes a strangled noise and Allison snorts, but Stiles feels his face flush in embarrassment and he crosses his arms defiantly, looking Peter straight in the eyes. The man grins in response and he takes a breath before speaking. “Just ask and I'll take the clothes off again, Stiles.” Scott settles on the couch next to Stiles, looking twice as uncomfortable as before as Peter moves over in a predatory gait to stand where they can all see him.

“Just tell us about your niece, Peter, _please,”_ Scott doesn't want to see Peter naked again. Of course, Peter had still been wearing underwear, but he still didn't want to see more than he had to or he'd be scarred for life.

“My niece is an alpha,” he starts, holding up a hand when Stiles opens his mouth to interrupt, “Yes, yes, she's an alpha, I'm an alpha, that's weird, I'll explain _never._ You should be used to that by now,” he says briskly. “Now my niece, Laura, recently arrived here with her younger brother. It's been a couple of months or so. She … she doesn't really _like_ me.”

“What's not to like? You're a _freaking delight!”_ Stiles bites out sarcastically. Peter nods along as though Stiles had meant what he said.

“I know, such a shame,” he shakes his head sadly. “Anyway,” he waves it off, “The alpha pack is lead by Deucalion from what I remember.” All three young adults frown.

“My family had dealings with him in the past. My sister, Laura's mother, was a sort of leader for the surrounding packs, you see. So she constantly met with the other alphas when things would go wrong. Formed a little council of sorts.” He hesitates at that and hums as though considering whether telling them every detail was important. “Long story short,” he says, “Deucalion and his little alphas all killed their betas, making them stronger and more powerful, so even one of them is a hassle to deal with. I don't know how many of them are in the pack, but I know for certain that whether it's only two or ten of them, they won't be easily disposed of.”

“And what exactly do they want with your _niece,_ Laura? What, they gonna invite her for tea?” Scott frowns at Stiles who shrugs, “What? I'm asking!” But Peter's face is somber.

“I think they want to recruit her,” he says. Scott groans and Allison sighs.

“Great,” she says tiredly. Scott lets himself sink back into the sofa and nods in agreement. Stiles stands.

“Which means that whatever pack Laura has, they're in danger,” he starts to pace and stops, looking closely at Peter. “But they want you too, don't they? The alphas? They don't just want her. They want you too! Which means they're gonna make you kill all of us!” Peter shrugs, but doesn't deny Stiles' accusations and Stiles takes a step back to which he grins.

“Oh, don't worry, Stiles. I won't kill you. Though it makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside that you consider yourself part of my pack.”

Stiles flushes and glares at him for a moment, snapping his fingers in a sudden thought.

“Wait!” he says, looking at Scott and back to Peter, “How didn't we know about Laura? Or her pack? Why didn't Scott or Boyd sense them? Like shouldn't they be able to sense other werewolves?”

Peter only shrugs. “Your incompetence is startling,” he says dryly, “But since Laura and I are family (and technically from the same pack), I suppose werewolves in _her_ pack wouldn't really register as threats to either Scott or Boyd. Speaking of Boyd,” he looks at all three of them, “Why isn't he here listening to me chat? Jackson as well. And Lydia too for that matter. She's part of your little group, and by extension, in my pack, and technically under my protection since I so graciously helped her discover her banshee powers.”

“Yeah, Lydia still wants to thank you for _graciously_ _trying to_ _killing her during prom,_ by the way,” says Stiles, “And though she's not a werewolf, I'm pretty sure she's planning a way to kill you eventually.” Peter smiles indulgently at him and Stiles feels like wringing his neck. The man may be attractive, but he was a massive dick.

“I'll just call Boyd and them, shall I?” he viciously pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls down his contacts, pausing at Derek's number. He quickly glances to the other three people in the room, but no one is paying him any attention. Peter has busied himself with the television while Scott and Allison are in deep conversation. He makes his way to the kitchen and is so very thankful that the blood has been all cleaned up off the floor.

Stiles contemplates texting Derek for all of a second before he's typing away, supernatural issues be damned. He will not be afraid to live his life just because some alphas were threatening his very existence. He can handle keeping his normal life and his supernatural life separate!

 

**To: Mr. McHotpants**

**Derek, it's Stiles. I'm pretty swamped with homework tonight, but I wanted you to have my number. Not blowing you off, promise. ;)**

 

He regrets the winky face as soon as he presses send. A couple heartbeats later, he's done berating himself and scrolls down to Vernon Boyd's number. He presses the call button and waits for him to pick up.

“Stiles, I'm kind of busy right now. Can you make this quick?” says a deep voice on the other end.

“What? No 'hi, how are you'? No 'hey, Stiles, I missed your lovely voice'? I'm feeling very scorned, Boyd. Not cool,” says Stiles playfully.

“...Stiles.” Stiles sighs at the exasperated tone.

“Okay, okay. We got trouble, man. You gotta come to Scott's. It's important and nothing you say to me will trump this emergency!” He says.

“I'm supposed to be _meeting_ someone for a _date,”_ Boyd says, his voice querulous and Stiles feels miserable.

“Oh, my god,” Stiles moans wretchedly, “Dude, I'm _so_ sorry. Seriously, you have no idea how sorry I am. Like I had to put off _my_ love life for tonight, so you're going to have to as well! I'm sorry, Boyd. Just tell her that you need to babysit!”

“Is someone dying?” says Boyd petulantly. Stiles doesn't even hesitate.

“YES.” Boyd curses and the ended call tone sounds. Stiles sighs and scrolls to Lydia's number because he sure as hell wasn't going to call _Jackson._

He dials her and waits patiently while it rings. She picks up after the seventh ring.

“Ugh, _okay._ I know, _I know._ I'm on my way,” she says bitterly, “Want me to get Jackson.” But it somehow doesn't sound like a question. Stiles decides to answer anyway.

“Yeah. I don't even wanna know how you already know, but I'm guessing it has something to do with your freaky banshee powers. You're scary, Lydia.” He huffs when she giggles.

“Yes, I know you love me. I'll be there soon.” She hangs up and Stiles wishes he could end the call for once in his life. He's about to turn off the screen when he sees a message alert. Stiles almost drops his phone is his haste to bring it up on screen and feels his stomach flutter in happiness. It's from Derek.

 

**From: Mr. McHotpants**

**No prblm. Ur right. I thnk it's 2 soon 2 blow me, 2.**

 

Stiles really does drop his phone then. He lets out a loud, “Holy crap!” before snatching his phone off the floor, thankful it didn't break. He shoots off a reply and grins to himself before tucking his phone away.

 

**To: Mr. McHotpants**

**We'll see about that.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... Jackson's kind of a jerk. (Next Chapter) I think he's having trouble accepting that he actually has a pack (and that Stiles is part of it). I dunno. He won't really tell me.
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter in the comments section!


	6. Remember that time you were a murdering lizard?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Peter's niece is real and not a figment of Peter's imagination. Unfortunately, there seems to be some tension between Peter and his niece.. On the plus side, Stiles thinks everything is going swell with Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I've taken so long in updating. I've been really out of it lately and my muse packed up and left. It's most likely because I've been a little depressed lately, so hopefully I'll cheer up soon! Well, here's another chapter. Enjoy.

**From: Strawberry Goddess**

**You idiot, remove the mountain ash. We can't get in!**

 

 _Oops._ Stiles rushes to the front of the house , parting the line of ash and opening the door to see a put off Lydia Martin, arms crossed, scowl in place. _“Hey,_ Lydia. You look –” She barges past him in a tizzy and Jackson, who'd been hiding in her shadow, follows after, silent as the wind “– like you're going to ignore me,” Stiles mutters and rolls his eyes, glancing around to see Boyd walking up the driveway. He waits until Boyd's inside before locking the door and fixing the mountain ash once more.

Boyd gives him a look as he waits for Stiles and Stiles can only smile guiltily.

“You owe me an apology gift for her. I'm lucky I even got a second chance.” Boyd murmurs as they head into the living room. Not that it mattered much since they were in a house with werewolves that could hear anything they said, whispers or not. Though it was an unspoken rule with them that anything spoken in a whisper was to be respected and not talked about.

Stiles nods emphatically, clapping his hands together as though in prayer. “Anything you want within reason,” he says and Boyd gives him a private smile of gratitude. They enter the living room and Peter is rolling his eyes at Jackson who's standing over him, jaw twitching like he's about to murder someone. Stiles doesn't like that look. That look gets people pummeled. Scott has his face in his hands and Allison is looking anywhere but at them. Lydia has settled primly on the loveseat, phone out, her fingers tapping away.

“So … pretty tense in here, huh?” Stiles looks around nodding at them all. Jackson looks like he's about leave. Which, normally, Stiles would helpfully show him the door, but right now they had _things_ to discuss. Important things! Peter smiles sarcastically as he gets more comfortable in his recliner. Boyd leaves Stiles side to sit next to Scott. “Jax, buddy, why don't you sit next to your ladylove there, huh?” Jackson lets out a heavy breath and does so because Lydia is smiling at him and she's good at calming his animal instincts that prompt him to maim and slay.

“That-a-boy!” Stiles shrugs off the homicidal glare thrown his way and clears his throat. When did he become the ringleader here? “Okay, so apparently,” he says, and winces when his phone buzzes and a loud DING fills the room. Lydia gives him an approving nod as though she _knows_ (what she knows, Stiles has no idea, but Lydia _knows_ somehow) and everyone else merely looks curious. Stiles wants to desperately check who texted him and hopes it's Derek, but doesn't if only because he doesn't really want Peter to know and start being weird about it. The alpha had serious issues with who his pack got involved with. Most of the time, Stiles thought that Peter only badgered them for the hell of it.

“Anyway,” he continues, “like I was saying. We've got a new pack in town. Not just any ole pack. An alpha pack. _Yes,_ that means they're all alphas. _No,_ I don't know how many there are. _Yes,_ one of them apparently paid Peter a visit and won” – Peter makes a sour faceat him – “and they seem to be after both Peter and his _niece_ who's _also_ an alpha. Would you _listen_ to that? Peter's got a niece he _never_ told us about who's _an alpha!_ Anyway, these alphas are lead by some D-bag called Deucalion. Who the hell names their kid _Deucalion?_ So pretentious –”

“Finish up your yapping, Stiles. Some of us have better things to do than listen to _you,”_ comes Jackson's barbed remark.

“Wow, did I hit a nerve there, _wolfboy?_ Did I offend you in some way? Someone in your life call you pretentious as well, Jaxy –”

“STILES!” Scott is gawping at him. Holding his arms out as if saying “Dude, what the hell?” Stiles points to Jackson accusingly, who looks really close to shredding him with his claws, but then again, Stiles never really had much self-preservation to begin with. It was a wonder he'd managed to survive thus far. “Come on, guys, we're not in high school anymore. Jackson, you may hate being part of this pack, but you need this information just as much as us!” Scott tells him pointedly. Jackson flashes his fangs at Scott briefly and Scott sighs.

“Like Stiles was saying,” Scott stands and Stiles lets him have the floor. He had better things to do than argue with Jackson. He gets Scott's attention and pulls out his phone, mouthing “Dad” to him before leaving the living room and walking into the kitchen. He was sure the sheriff was home by now and wondering where he was. _But first,_ he thinks, _Derek._ He checks the message and, sure enough, it's from Derek.

 

**From: Mr. McHotpants**

**I want 2 take u out 2morrow if ur not b z .**

 

 _Take me out? He wants to take me out? Oh, god, why does he want to kill me – wait, take me out as in a date!_ Stiles smacks himself in the forehead with his palm. _God, I'm such an idiot._ He frowns as he mentally filters through his schedule for the next day. _I got class in the morning, then homework, but I can always take a bunch of notes and do the homework later._ He quickly types out his reply and presses send before giddily looking for his dad's number in his contacts.

 

**To: Mr. McHotpants**

**I'm busy before 2pm, but after I'm free as a bird.**

 

He dials his dad who doesn't answer and leaves him a voice mail. “Yo, pops, I'm at Scott's. Gonna do some homework. I'll call you if I plan to stay the night. Love you.” He hangs up and sighs. He didn't like lying to his dad, but his dad didn't really need to know that they were all in mortal danger … yet. He checks for a reply from Derek. Stiles hopes he didn't sound too desperate in his text. Maybe he should have played hard to get and said he needed to check his schedule – his train of thought is discontinued by a ding and he jumps, startled. He opens the reply and resists the urge to yell in triumph.

 

**From: Mr. McHotpants**

**How's 4pm sound? Pick u up?**

 

Stiles feels like he's going to start hyperventilating fromexcitement. He texts back an affirmative along with his address and can't help but whoop in delight. He has a date! He finally has a date that isn't a forced double-date with one of Allison's piss-poor suggestions with Scott and her as an awkward buffer! He's doing a small victory dance when Lydia walks in and blinks in surprise. She looks like she wants to walk right back out, but notices the cellphone in his hand and smirks.

“Finally,” is all she says before grabbing a bottled water from the fridge and leaving. Stiles feels so grateful that she isn't barging into his business and demanding to know all about Derek. He follows her out, tucking his phone back into his pocket. In the living room, everyone looks like they've heard the worst news. Stiles knows Scott's told them about the whole “betas are dead because apparently it makes the alphas stronger and we might be next” thing. Peter, however, merely looks amused at the situation.

 _Of course he's amused,_ Stiles scowls, _he's not the one that's going to be killed if everything goes bad._ He thanks the universe for allowing him to find Derek. Derek's normalcy was a breath of fresh air in the rancid stench of death and blood that came with the supernatural. He forces a grin down because every time he thinks of Derek, he grins like a maniac and he doesn't think that's an appropriate response for the situation at hand.

“Okay, so what are we doing?” Stiles asks the group at large, “Do we have a plan for these alpha jerks? Is there a course of action?” he looks around but not one of them is looking at him. “Anything?” he deflates and sighs. It was up to him, once again. _Well,_ he thinks, looking at a resigned Lydia, _least I'm not the only one backing the pack._

“I think,” she voices, “that we should call Deaton. _He's_ the magical dude who solves everything. He's the one with _all_ the answers. Where is he?” She looks at Scott because Scott was the only one who ever knew anything about Deaton. But Scott only shrugs. _Oh, that's right,_ Stiles grimaces, _Deaton's away._ “Great,” says Lydia, taking Scott's silence as an answer. She crosses her arms and purses her lips, “Just perfect!”

“We could call Laura?” Stiles could kiss Allison! But he doesn't because Scott would rip his lips off and he needs those for Derek. She's looking at Peter who's frowning. He definitely doesn't like the idea. “She's a target,” Allison tries, brows furrowed, “If she helps us, it'll help her and we'll be able to defend ourselves way better together than if we go it alone.” Peter meets her gaze steadily. His upper lip is curled in annoyance and he's opening his mouth to object, but Stiles beats him to the punch.

“Call her,” he says, “call her _now,_ Peter. We need her and her pack. And you get to bond with your niece. It's a win-win. Just _do it.”_ Peter sighs in defeat when he sees Boyd nod along. Even if he was the big bad alpha, Peter valued their thoughts (possibly Boyd's more than anyone else.) Though he'd never admit it to them or _anyone,_ really; not even under torture. Peter holds his hand out, palm up, looking around at them expectantly. Most of them look confused while Lydia's ignoring him completely. Stiles peers at her and notices that she's still texting away.

“Well?” prompts Peter. Stiles throws out his hands in question which makes Peter's wandering gaze settle on him. “Phone,” he states simply and Stiles unconsciously covers his pocket with his hand. Peter smiles aggressively at him, his eyes twinkling. Stiles really wishes he hadn't brought attention to himself. He looks to the rest, but they're all fixedly looking at their hands or the floor. None of them wanted to be Peter's prey. _Gee thanks, guys._

“WHY?” Stiles whines.

“Because,” says Peter, smirking, “if I call Laura from my phone, she isn't going to answer it.”

“And why does Laura avoid you so much if she's your family? Why doesn't she answer your calls?”

“I did something she doesn't quite agree with.” Peter shrugs.

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, looking shrewd. “You see,” he says, “when you say things like that, it makes me want to _not_ trust you.” But Peter is still smirking at him. How in the world did they get stuck with this guy as alpha? Stiles wants to punch him in his smug, little face. “Fine,” he grumbles and yanks out his phone. He pulls up the call screen and hands it over, watching Peter calmly input the number before affirming the call. He switches it to speaker and places the phone on the coffee table. Stiles gives him a confused look, which he shrugs off.

“If my voice is the first she hears, she's going to hang up before we can say anything.” Peter explains, leaning back into his chair. Stiles purses his lips, clenching his teeth. If Peter's own family wanted nothing to do with him, there was something seriously amiss. Stiles wonders when that something would come up and bite them all in the ass. Again, how exactly did they get stuck with this guy? Stiles vaguely recalls Peter showing up after biting Scott, declaring himself Scott's alpha and teacher. Stiles remembers both of them being too scared and clueless to refuse.

“How did you get this number?” the stern, wary voice comes through the phone and Stiles reconsiders their plan. It sounded like Laura was not going to make this easy on them. “Who are you?” she presses when none of them answer.

Stiles leans closer to his phone, clearing his throat.

“Uh,” Stiles looks to Peter, but Laura interrupts him.

“Speak or you'll be dealing with something way worse than the cops,” she threatens. Scott gives him a pleading look. Stiles knows what she's threatening him with. He was in a room full of werewolves. Of course he knows she's threatening his very life.

“Hi,” he begins lamely, “uh, this is Laura, I'm guessing?” There's a huff on the other end that's neither an affirmative or a denial, but she hasn't hung up yet, so he's taking it as a good sign. “Well … Laura, uh, we – that is, I, have something to discuss with you –”

“And what makes you think I would want to discuss anything with _you?_ You haven't even told me your name,” she scathingly replies. Stiles steps back and frowns. This wasn't working. And being passive obviously wasn't going to work with her. Stiles looks at Peter and figures what works for him would work with Laura.

“Look, lady, I'm only calling because your werewolf ass is in trouble, okay? But if you want to get shredded to pieces and scattered all over California, be my guest. No sweat off my back,” he grits out. “Oh, and my name? You want to know my name? It's Stiles. My name is _Stiles,_ S.T.I.L.E.S, feel free to remember that. I may not be a werewolf, but I got ways to take you down –”

“STILES!” Scott is giving him the same pained look from before when he was arguing with Jackson. Stiles makes a welcoming motion. Scott could take over for all he cared. He didn't like talking to rude, interrupting people anyway. He moves back and Scott leans forward. He hesitantly speaks, “Uh, Laura? I'm very sorry about that. Please ignore him.” Laura is quiet, but she _still_ hasn't hung up on them, so Scott pushes on, “My name is Scott. I'm in Peter's pack and you need our help and we need yours.” They all know Scott's made a mistake by mentioning Peter.

“ _Peter's_ pack, huh? Is my _dear_ uncle sitting there listening like a little creep? Well, guess what, Peter, because I _know_ you're listening, whatever mess _you've_ gotten yourself into, _you_ can get yourself out –”

“It's Deucalion and he's coming for you, sweet niece,” says Peter smoothly. He finds it safe to speak now that he knows he's got Laura's attention. “I've already been attacked –”

“ _Gee,_ I wonder why!”

“– and I know that if they're here, they can only be here for two reasons and you're one of them,” Peter finishes as though there hadn't been an interruption.

“Peter, I swear to God that if you're just fucking with me, I'm going to rip your head off.” Eyebrows go up all around and Jackson is smiling at the thought. “I should really leave you to handle this yourself and leave town.” Laura says grudgingly. It was obvious she wanted nothing to do with Peter. Stiles would really like to know what Peter did that was so bad, that caused Laura to hate him so much. After all, they were family. Stiles could never imagine hating his father like that. He couldn't even hate Scott for what a shitty friend he was in high school. “Our packs will meet tomorrow,” she says, “You tell your pack not to harm mine and I'll make sure they don't kill yours.

“Tomorrow at four, got it? At the house,” she continues, “And one final thing, Peter. While we _may_ join forces against Deucalion, don't think it gives you the right to call me your niece.” She hangs up then and a heavy silence settles upon the group. Stiles looks at Peter and he can't help but feel sorry for him. Peter was all kinds of douchebag, but he didn't deserve to be abandoned by his only family. No one deserved that. He retrieves his phone from the table and tucks it away.

“Well,” Stiles says brightly, “you guys have fun tomorrow, no hair-pulling please, and let me know what's up. See ya!” He's on his way out of the living room when Scott speaks up.

“Hold up! What do you mean by _letting you know?_ You're coming with us, Stiles.” Scott looks like such a confused puppy, that Stiles caves and comes back, gritting his teeth. “Stiles?” Scott has his head cocked to the side, his brow scrunched, his lips turned down in a pout. Stiles groans, but Lydia's the one to speak up.

“He has a _date,”_ she says, her eyes sparkling in mirth, _“don't_ you,Stiles.” But it's not a question. She _knows_ and she's clearly taunting him. Stiles looks around and everyone looks interested except Boyd. Boyd looks betrayed. Stiles silently sends him mental apologies. Jackson scoffs and rolls his eyes. Of course he did. Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

“You have a weird sense of humor, Lydia. Who in their right mind would go on a date with _Stilinski.”_ The way he says _Stilinski_ sounds like an insult and Stiles glares at him.

“Oh, like _you're_ such a catch, _Jackson_. You became a _kanima_ when you were bitten! And if I've got my facts straight, (which I always do,) people who turn into _kanimas_ are pieces of –”

“Stiles, who's your date!” Allison jumps in, successfully putting an end to the beginning of what would have been a brawl. Stiles has no doubt that they'd end up wrestling on the floor. Well, if he was honest, it would be more Jackson sitting on him than wrestling. Jackson was halfway out of his seat when Allison came to the rescue. He sits back down and glowers at Stiles, a face that promises a painful demise. Stiles gives him a cocky grin in return. _Fuck you, Jackson._

“Allison, I'd love to tell you, but, honestly, with all of you as my friends, minus Jackson” – Jackson snarls, baring his teeth, his eyes flashing blue – “and probably Peter” – Peter gives him a tired wink (the man really needed to sort out his priorities) and Stiles suppresses a shudder – “I'm terrified for his life because he's just a defenseless human and doesn't need to be _hunted down and interrogated!”_ He emphasizes the last because Allison is still a hunter deep in her soul, even if she was pack, and she is completely capable of hunting Derek down and threatening his manhood if he so much as hurts Stiles' feelings.

Allison only pouts at him and Stiles looks away because Allison's puppy-pout was just as potent as her boyfriend's. He knew Scott didn't remember Derek and Lydia wasn't about to blab his secret, so he wasn't worried about them.

“Okay, I _really_ don't care about your personal life, _or_ your public life for that matter,” announces Jackson, “In fact, I don't really give two shits about you.” He stands and helps Lydia up like a gentleman. “So I'm leaving. Let's go, Lydia.” He's already walking out, when Stiles opens his mouth one more time.

“Well, as long as you give _one_ shit, that's fine with me, Jaxy,” he retorts and Jackson slams into his shoulder on his way out of the living room, knocking Stiles to the floor.

“Augh, _bitch,”_ Stiles grunts out in pain as someone helps him up. He's _so_ going to shoot Jackson one of these days. He sees that it's Scott helping him up. He looks pretty grumpy and Stiles isn't sure if Scott's mood is directed at Jackson or at him.

“I'll be there at four, Peter,” Jackson's pleased voice floats down the hall towards them and Stiles is delighted when he hears him yelp and a loud thud right after. He's shaking so uncontrollably that Scott looses his grip and Stiles falls back to the floor, not even feeling the pain through his laughter. It's apparent that Jackson had forgotten about the Mountain Ash barrier. _Yeah,_ Stiles thinks smugly as Jackson curses and stands while Lydia tries hard not to laugh. He sees Allison anxiously head over to break the barrier and he grins wickedly. _Fuck you, Jackson._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like my Laura. And it's my headcannon that Lydia is not immune to the effects of mountain ash. Please let me know what you think in the comments section below. Your feedback helps!


	7. Something Not So Wonderful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, haha, sorry I took so very long to update. I was having a lot of trouble with words. It never sounded right and I finally got the chapter to my standards, so here you go!

In the living room of a two-bedroom apartment, Derek is pacing in front of the clock on the wall. He tosses glances at it every now and then. He's only just refraining from chewing his nails by clenching them inside his jacket pockets. It wouldn't do to show up with disgusting, chewed nails. He wanted to attract Stiles, not repel him to the other side of the planet. It's still half an hour until he has to pick Stiles up. He had dressed as soon as he'd woken and now he was waiting for the clock to strike 3:50pm. He had planned the date fastidiously the previous day. It would take ten minutes to get to Stiles' house and he would be exactly on time.

He would greet Stiles with the flowers he'd gone to buy that morning, wait for him to put them in a vase, walk him to the car, open his door for him, crack a joke or two on the way to the bowling alley –

Derek stumbles when the loud intro of “Barbie Girl” erupts from his pocket. He growls and fishes his phone out, glaring towards his sister's bedroom where a loud bark of laughter begins.

“Are you serious?” he grumbles irately and silences the phone.

“It's _still_ funny!” calls his sister from the bedroom, still guffawing irrepressibly. Derek changes his message ringtone for the tenth time that month and feels his heart stutter in his chest. Stiles sent him a text! He promptly opens it, a smile stretching onto his face.

 

**From: Stiles**

**So, where exactly are we going? I kinda have a bunch of clothes all over the floor and I dunno if we're gonna be outside or inside or what.**

 

Derek types out their destination and sits on the sofa. His sister's bedroom door opens and she's stepping out, looking like she's ready for battle. Derek raises an eyebrow at her as she walks over. She's lifted her straight brown hair into a ponytail and pinned up her bangs. She's wearing dark, denim pants that are form-fitting, but not restricting with a plain, black, tank top. She's even wearing the dark red leather jacket she fondly refers to as her “fighting cloth”.

“You look like you're about to go to war or something,” he laughs. She gives him a tight-lipped smile and shrugs.

“Or something,” she says grimly. She hefts her boot-covered foot onto the sofa and tightens the knot, doing the same for the other shoe. Her green eyes, the ones so like his are stormy and she looks like today is going to be the worst day of her life. Before Derek can ask what's wrong, she speaks up. “I see you're wearing the leather jacket I bought you instead of dad's ratty, old thing.” Derek feels offended because his dad's leather jacket is the best thing he owns in _his_ opinion. Laura doesn't seem to notice his emotion (or she ignores it) because she continues. “Looks good. When do I get to meet the mystery girl? ...or boy?” she smiles wide then, but it still doesn't quite meet her eyes. Derek only frowns, answering uncertainly.

“He's a guy. And you're not meeting him until I'm sure he can handle the whole” – he gestures between them – “thing … about our family,” he says. She gives him a measuring look and nods. “Okay, baby brother. Just have fun on your date and make sure you don't accidentally claw someone.” She laughs genuinely when Derek gives her a wretched look.

“Shut _up,_ that's not funny! I'm nervous enough as it is,” he says in a pathetic grumble, rubbing his palms into his jeans. _“He_ makes me nervous,” Derek whispers, gripping the bottom of his blue henley and wondering if Stiles would like it. He chose it specifically because whenever he wore it, people said it looked good on him (and by people, he meant creepy strangers and his sister). Derek really wanted to look good today. He even wore the best jeans he owned! His sister makes an awed sound and stands up straight hands on her hips, giving him a delighted smile.

“Well, now I _really_ want to meet him! What's his name?” she prods him in the shoulder eagerly with one slim finger. Derek scowls at her.

“Why don't you tell me where you're going and I'll think about telling you his name,” he says. She sighs and sits next to him on the couch, pulling her jacket closer to herself. She doesn't look happy and Derek begins to feel concerned for her. It wasn't like his sister to keep things from him. “Laura?”

“It's Peter,” she finally breathes out. Derek clenches his teeth and feels his scowl deepen, Stiles momentarily forgotten.

“What about him?” he asks and his sister pulls a face. “Laura?”

“He wants to meet. I'm taking the pack with me,” she explains, “They should already be waiting for me, actually.”

“When exactly were you planning on telling me this?” he demands. Derek feels betrayed. Why had Laura kept this from him? He was part of her pack! Her second in command, even! Laura flashes her red eyes at him, but he meets her gaze head on. “You can't just give me your alpha eyes and pretend nothing is going on! You should have told me that Peter had set up a meeting! You're not going without me!” he says, standing. Laura stands as well. She shakes her head, ponytail swinging.

“Actually, I _am_ going without you,” she says firmly, “You have a date, remember? The reason I didn't tell you is because when you came home from work and told me you had a date, you looked so _happy!”_ She sounds incredulous as though Derek being happy was the last thing she expected. “I was ready to tell you, but as soon as you were in the door, you were whistling and humming and _smiling!_ And when you said you had a date, I couldn't take that away from you,” she whispers, her brow creasing in sincerity. “You haven't been in that good a mood since...” she trails off and the rest of her sentence settles like a dead weight in Derek's heart.

He hadn't been so carefree since the fire is what Laura's saying. Derek takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It doesn't matter,” he says, “I'm coming with you. I can have my date another time. He'll understand a family emergency –”

“Don't you _dare,_ Derek Hale! You're going on your date and I'm going with the others to meet with Peter. You deserve this! After Kate” – Derek winces at the name and she barrels on – “you haven't been okay and this is your chance to fix that hole she made in you!” Laura feels bad about bringing up _that woman,_ but she wasn't about to let her brother screw up his chance to finally start healing and be a _normal person_ for a change.

“You're going on that date and that's final or I'll just cancel the meet-up with Peter,” she threatens.

Derek grinds his teeth at her stubbornness and huffs out, “Fine.” He sighs. “Just keep me posted and when I get home, you better be here to tell me everything you've been hiding from me, you heathen.” He lifts a finger and jabs her in the arm. She laughs and nods, shoving him playfully.

“You just worry about your date,” she says and Derek's nerves come back. He looks at his hands and frowns.

“Laura, my hands keep _sweating,”_ he complains, looking so disgusted that Laura has to fight tooth and nail to keep her face straight.

“Sorry, baby bear. Nothing you or I can do about that. Just try to calm down and wash your hands before you go.” She's about to turn and leave when a thoughtful look comes over her face. “Try hand sanitizer. Might help?” she shrugs.

“We don't _have_ any hand sanitizer!”

Laura just shrugs and spreads out her arms as if saying, “oh well, you're screwed then”. She chuckles at the look on his face and points her thumb to the door. “Okay, well, I gotta go. Those books you brought helped, by the way. Got rid of those pesky little critters. Make sure to take them back to the library, okay?” She waits for his nod and turns to go. “You have fun now, ya hear?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go away already.” Derek waves her off. She smiles at him and pauses at the key holder on the wall next to the door where her keys have gone missing. She grabs Derek's set of keys and purses her lips.

“Derek?”

Derek looks up sheepishly and pulls her keys from his jacket pocket. “Uh, I'm taking your car. I deserve it after what you're pulling,” he argues. Laura rolls her eyes so hard that her angled face rolls with it.

“Whatever. Just don't scratch it. Your Toyota has more space anyway,” she mutters and barges out the door. Derek checks his messages, but Stiles hasn't replied and he sees that it's still too early to head out. He groans and takes up his pacing again. If anything, he was more nervous now than before. He runs his hands through his hair fretfully and curses, running to the bathroom to make sure he didn't mess it up. He carefully fixes what he did displace and takes a good look in the mirror.

“You can do this,” he tells his reflection, “Don't freak out. Pick him up, greet whoever answers the door _politely,_ remember to smile, ask for Stiles. Don't stare, just give him the flowers, tell him he looks nice, and ask him if he's ready. Walk him to the car, open the door for him, don't slam it! Remember your jokes.” Derek closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. “God, I hope he laughs,” he whispers. Opening his eyes he tries a smile and it looks so pained that he buries his face into his hands in distress.

“Oh, my god, I'm going to mess up so bad that he'll never want to go to Starbucks again.” He places his palms against the sink and stares hard at the faucet. Taking Laura's advice, he washes his hands and dries them. Derek looks up at the mirror and a determined look comes over his face.

“No,” he says, “I will not mess up. I will be the _best_ date Stiles has _ever_ had and we're going to have _fun.”_ He nods an affirmative at his reflection and stands up straight, smoothing out his shirt and jacket, plucking stray lint off it. He checks his breath, decides it's not fresh enough, and brushes his teeth for the third time that day. When he's done, he wipes the water from his face, looks in the mirror, and straightens up the collar to his jacket. He grins and winks at his reflection, feeling much better and surer than before. Glancing down at his hands, though, he feels he should wash them again. ...just in case.

He's back in the living room, checking that he's got everything when he sees the time.

 

**4:17**

 

“FUCK!”

▪▪▪▪

Derek is _not_ speeding towards Stiles' house when red and blue lights flash in his rear-view mirror. He swears he doesn't sob as he pulls over, suppressing the gargantuan urge to hit himself for not noticing the cop he sped past. And as he turns off the car, he observes with mounting dread that it's not just any old cop either. There's a knock at his window and he winces before lowering it, trying a smile which he's sure comes off constipated. And by the look on the cop's face, Derek knows it does.

“Hello, sheriff. How are you?”

Sheriff Stilinski is frowning at the nervous wreck in the sleek, black Camaro as though he's disappointed in Derek's life's choices and sighs.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, son?” he says.

Derek feels his gut twist so hard that it forms a black hole and swallows his insides. He wishes it would swallow him as well. The sheriff was using his Disappointed Dad voice and Derek greatly pitied _anyone_ that _ever_ had to be on the receiving end of that.

“Uh, I … well, you see, sir –”

But the sheriff is waving away his half-assed explanation, leaning forwards to meet Derek at eye level.

“Look … it's Derek, right? Derek Hale?” Derek nods pathetically. Of course the sheriff knew his name. _Fuck my life,_ he thinks, _I'm going to get arrested and_ _Laura's going to have a field day with this_ _as she bails me out._

“Derek, I _just_ got off a _sixteen_ -hour shift. Do you understand that? And I really want to get home to my son's terrific cooking and well-deserved sleep.” Derek can suddenly see how tired the sheriff is. He can see it in every line of the older man's face. He nods and the sheriff gives him a tired smile. “I'm glad you understand because I really don't want to have to give you a ticket. Just keep this monster under the speed limit, got it?”

Derek nods again, skeptical of his good luck.

“Good,” says the sheriff, “I'm letting you off with a warning this once. I will not be so lenient next time,” he says firmly and Derek is reminded of his own deceased father. He gulps down his sadness and clears his throat.

“Yes, sir. No more speeding,” he says and the sheriff nods with approval before patting the hood of the car.

“Okay, go on,” he says, stepping back and Derek starts his car doubtfully, but when the sheriff only continues to stand there, he slowly drives off. He lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as the sheriff fades from view. He doesn't push the speed limit again, but he decidedly doesn't go easy on it and rides the limit unwaveringly. When he pulls up in front of Stiles' home, Derek quickly checks the time and notices that it's now 4:40 and he suddenly feels like driving his car off a cliff. He's late. So extremely late and he hopes he hasn't ruined everything. Derek takes a couple of calming breaths before he grabs the flowers that lay on the passenger's seat, exits the car, and walks up to the door. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and rings the doorbell.

His werewolf hearing catches the sound of doors slamming and pounding feet, a crash and a pain-filled “Coming, dad!” is called out. Derek winces and hopes Stiles is okay. There's uneven steps heading his way and Derek grimaces because Stiles has hurt himself in his haste. The door opens with a flourish. Derek can't breathe all of a sudden because there's _Stiles._ Stiles is right _there_ and he looks amazing and Derek wants to whisk him away and keep him. He clears his throat that's way too dry and swallows to try to speak.

“You're not my dad,” Stiles says.

“Stiles,” is all Derek manages because those amber-brown eyes are wide with astonishment and that mouth is parted in surprise and Derek can't really think when Stiles is looking at him like that. Then again, Derek always finds it hard to think in his presence. Stiles shifts and closes his mouth, blinking. Derek looks down at the flowers in his fist and holds them out feebly. Stiles takes them, looking even more startled.

“I thought you'd stood me up when you didn't reply to my text,” Stiles says and Derek feels a painful ache go through him as he whips out his phone.

“No, I did –” But his protest falls short when he realizes he never actually sent the damn message.

“I didn't … press send,” he says miserably. Stiles nods haltingly and puts his nose into the petals, sniffing and grinning.

“Flowers?” he questions and Derek shrugs because Stiles is grinning at him and he's helpless at the sight of it. “Thanks,” says Stiles and shuffles his feet. Derek looks down to see that Stiles isn't wearing shoes or even adequate pants. In fact, Stiles seems to be in pajamas. He frowns and Stiles shrugs. “Like I said, I thought you'd stood me up.”

“You look great,” Derek blurts out and Stiles looks taken aback. Derek now wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole. But then Stiles is laughing and Derek really likes the sound, so he forgives himself for his folly.

“Oh, my god, you're _adorable,”_ says Stiles, his grin a mile wide, a mischievous glint in his eye like he's just figured out Derek's darkest secret. A loud ding goes off somewhere inside the house and Derek finally smells the wonderfulness that is lasagna and garlic bread that's been wafting through the air. Stiles jumps and rushes off, well, not so much rushes, but limps away, leaving Derek to stand awkwardly in the doorway. He hears a car turn into the street, but doesn't bother to look. Stiles returns quickly and Derek notices that Stiles still isn't dressed.

“Uh, are we leaving?” Derek asks hesitantly and Stiles gasps, raising his hands to his face in mock panic.

“Are you kidding me? I haven't even put on my makeup!” Derek gives him a look that says he's not sure if Stiles is joking and Stiles decides to be merciful for once. “I'm _kidding,”_ he says, smiling softly, then looks sheepish. “I actually made food already since I didn't think you were coming,” he starts and Derek feels the black hole spit his insides back out, only now they seem to be full of lead. Stiles bites his lip. “So, if you don't mind, we could eat here and then go?” Derek jumps at the opportunity to eat Stiles' food, but as he's agreeing to Stiles' suggestion, a hand comes down on his shoulder and the sheriff is there, eyebrows raised, half-smiling, half-confused.

Sheriff Stilinski is standing next to him, greeting Stiles and that's when it clicks in Derek's head. _Stilinski. Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski._ _G_ _od! How did I not see that? I am such a moron!_ Derek automatically holds out a hand and the sheriff takes it, amusement on his face. Derek feels like he's going to be sick.

“You know,” says the sheriff in good humor, releasing Derek's hand and clapping him on the back as he glances from his son to Derek, “maybe I _should_ have given you that ticket after all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. I really am sorry I took so long. I want to reassure you that I am not abandoning this story. Like at all. Btw, I wrote an apology oneshot in case you wanna check that out. It's called "Salt and Fire". No Sterek, unfortunately, just some Isaac/Stiles friendship beginnings, but I may expand the story later (and there will be Sterek then). I'm still thinking about it. So, hey, let me know what you thought of Derek's POV? I hope you found it satisfactory?


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